


Convict

by sailorkittycat



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: Barn Sex, Convict!Tom, F/M, One Night Stand, Outdoor Sex, au!tom, escaped prisoner, prisoner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 22:07:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8685202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailorkittycat/pseuds/sailorkittycat
Summary: Based off of the prompt ‘Tom is a prison convict escaping from the work release program. You find him in an orange jumpsuit hiding in your barn and hot, dirty sex ensues.’





	

Cordelia wasn’t sure how she found herself in this mess. She could barely stomach her cup of tea as she watched Tom scarf down his plate of eggs, bacon, and whatever else he could find in her fridge. He had prefaced it by telling her how disgusting prison food was, which didn’t help her churning stomach, and she dropped her gaze to her half empty mug instead, as she felt a wave of nausea wash over her.

She was meant to be a reclusive writer for God’s sake, and now she was an accessory to a crime. She didn’t know anything about the man sitting opposite her except that his name was Tom, he had escaped from prison last night, and that he needed somewhere to stay while he thought of a new plan. He hadn’t asked as such if he could stay at hers, he just sort of placed himself in her life.

“I haven’t eaten like that in months” Tom said, and Cordelia jumped at the sound of the fork hitting the empty plate. He closed his eyes, looking content as he reclined in the old wooden chair that had come with the place. The sunlight was brushing against his face making him look more angelic than he was. He opened one eye and caught her staring at him, offering her a sly smile as she looked away again. She gripped the mug that had turned cold, providing him with no eye contact, as if she could pretend that he didn’t actually exist and that this was all a dream. When she heard him speak again she knew it wasn’t.

“Ask me something.”

“Will you leave?”

He laughed “soon.”

She swallowed nervously. His laugh, she supposed, was meant to relax her but it only made her tenser. She wasn’t sure if she was imagining it or not, but she felt like there was something bitter and sinister behind it. What did he mean by ‘soon’? Would he leave before or after he killed her?

“You can ask another question” he prompts “I’m sure you have some.” It’s almost considerate, his openness to her, but she bites the insides of her cheeks instead. There is one question but she’s afraid of the answer.

“Why did you run?” Tom quirks an eyebrow, he was probably expecting for her to poke at the elephant in the room but she didn’t dare.

“I always thought that whole ‘don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time’ thing was bullshit” he laughed merrily, carefree. As if the police weren’t after him.

“And besides” he adds after a moment “it’s boring in there. I could just feel my mind racing, unable to live out its potential stuck in that cage.” His tone became infinitely darker and Cordelia stared at him with horror etched onto her face. He breaks out of it almost as quickly as he got into it, a grin replacing his scowl instantaneously. Cordelia wonders whether or not she should ask another question, maybe something lighter like what’s your favourite colour? Or what he’d like for dinner?

“I know you won’t ask it” he says lightly “it’s smart of you really.”

“The less I know the better.”

He smiles approvingly at her, but is sure to add “it was murder.”

He asks her questions instead, wanting to know about who she was and where she was from. He was fascinated by her career choice as a self-professed ‘reclusive writer’, and how she’d moved out of London for a quiet life in the country. He said that he’d like to read her stuff, and maybe if she had a copy of one of her books she might be so kind as to let him read it? He was a wonderful conversationalist and Cordelia reasoned that if he wasn’t a criminal, they might have been great friends, maybe even more… He talks about himself in snippets. It turns out that he and Cordelia have a lot in common, which scared Cordelia a little but has no negative effect on Tom. He tells anecdotes about his upbringing, which was not the rough, living on the streets type of backstory she would have guessed. Instead Tom was from a well to do family; he went to private school; he had a golden retriever as a child. Normal upper-middle class things. She wanted to ask about how he got mixed up with crime, and how he’d gone from his idol being Superman to murdering people, but a knock at the door interrupted her train of thought.

“Do I get it?” She asked, unsure of what she was meant to do.

“Yes, you have to keep up appearances.” She should have been frightened of how easily she obeyed, but she told herself that it was self-preservation. A murderer had asked her to pretend everything was fine, so everything was fine.

“Hello?”

“Good morning Cordelia, sorry to bother you bother you so early.” Cordelia waved off his apology, telling Mr Henderson – Hank, as he insisted – that he was no bother, and whether or not he’d like to come in.

“Tea?” She asked without considering the fact that she was hiding a criminal in her kitchen, but she couldn’t go back on her word as the two of them stepped into the mysteriously empty kitchen. He accepted his mug, and placed a brown file on the kitchen table, sitting where Tom had sat not seconds before.

Small talk aside, Hank started to speak about his true intentions “you know, I’ve been a part of the police force for the past thirty five years.”

“That’s very impressive” Cordelia responded robotically. She was wondering where Tom was hiding, had he gone out the back or was he tucked away in a cupboard maybe? She shook her head, trying to rid herself of it and focus on Hank instead, who was still talking about his work on the police force.

“-so I just want you to know that although it’s my duty to tell you this information, it’s also my duty to protect you from this threat.”

“What is the threat?” She asked, a little more bluntly than she had wanted to.

Hank sighed “A criminal escaped from the prison last night.”

“The prison in the next county?”

“Yes” Hank sighed again, running his hand through the wisps of salt and pepper hair “it seems as though he’d been planning this escape for months. I mean, the work he put into it was amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it before…”

“So he’s dangerous?”

“Yes.” At least Hank is up front, even if he looks a little queasy “but he will be caught, you can count on that.” He opened the file finally, taking out mugshots of Tom covered in blood, whether it was his own or someone else’s Cordelia didn’t ask. She was given the photographs to look at and in them Tom looked much the same as he had that morning; blonde curls, blue eyes, a small smile etched onto his face as if he was amused that he had been caught.

“I’ve never seen him before” Cordelia said automatically “but if I do, should I call you or…?”

The visit is over soon enough and the photos are collected again, though Cordelia knows she can’t unsee what she saw. Hank gives her his number in case she hears or sees anything, though he admits to her that he doubts Tom would hang around for long.

“We’ll catch him come morning, don’t worry about a thing.” Hank reassured, and just as she closed the door she felt a whisper against her ear.

“He sounded confident.”

Cordelia would have screamed had Tom not clapped his hand across her mouth in time, laughing at her distress as another hand snaked its way across her abdomen, clinching her body to his. She hated him for this. Not just the dumb prank, but the way her heart was thumping against her ribs so quickly. Being a recluse meant a lack of people in her life; a lack of a lot of things in her life.

“That wasn’t funny” she spat clawing him off her, even though he was pleasantly warm and solid against her back. She walked away from him, heading back towards the kitchen to do the dishes. The repetitive process would switch her brain off for a while; give her a chance to cool down. Tom had other ideas. He bounded after her like a puppy, spouting apologies punctuated with ‘darlings’ and ‘sweethearts’ as if it would help soften her. Cordelia ignored him as she turned on the taps, letting lukewarm water rush over one hand, as the other adjusted the knobs to get her preferred temperature.

“What do I have to do to get you to forgive me?” Tom asked, resting his chin on her shoulder. He was way too familiar way too quickly, making Cordelia bite the insides of her cheeks. He wrapped both arms around him as he whispered apologies against her skin, instantly making the whole thing way more erotic than it needed to be. Or at least that’s how Cordelia felt.

“I could do the dishes?”

“No” she said, finding her voice “it’s… whatever, just don’t do that again.”

“So I’m forgiven?”

“Yeah, sure, I guess so” the inflection of her voice rose an octave when he pressed a spectacularly sloppy kiss on her cheek before letting go of her.

“You’re the first person in a long time who’s forgiven me.”

***

They get on okay considering he’s a murderer and she was unwillingly made to open her home to him. He likes her cooking, and raves about her book after he reads it, even the ginger Tom who wanders in from time to time purrs contently on his lap. Cordelia hates how he makes her feel though, like she wants to be the one that’s purring on his lap instead. It’s pathetic and desperate and most importantly, wrong, but she wants it. Her hands keep finding themselves between her legs at night, but it doesn’t matter how much she circles and pumps and flicks, she can’t find her release.

She turns over, abandoning the task at hand. Was Tom feeling the same way? He hadn’t minded sleeping in the barn, the nights had been as warm as the days and Tom said that the barn was better than a cell. Cordelia seriously doubted that. She tugged the covers up when the tail end of a cool breeze wafted in through her open window. Was Tom cold? She had offered a blanket but he had turned it down, claiming that it was too hot for one. Still, maybe she should check again. It wasn’t terribly late, only ten, she had retired early after the day’s events taking their toll on her, but she couldn’t sleep now. Her fingers fiddled with the edge of the sheets.

Okay. She was doing it. The blanket was neatly folded and hugged to her chest as she listened for the quiet click of the back door behind her. The summer night was cooler than the others had been, and Cordelia shivered as the air brushed her bare arms. In hindsight, she should have put on something on, say a jumper or her robe. Her t-shirt and mismatched shorts suddenly felt paper thin against her skin, but she was too deep in now.

The barn doors are open just a crack, and Cordelia slips through cautiously. Unsure of where to go, she moves to stand against one of the wooden columns.

“Hey” Tom walks over to her from the other side of the barn, and Cordelia gulps when she realises that he’s shirtless. Far be it from her to make a fuss over some shirtless white boy, but there’s something about Tom that’s making her bite her cheeks. It’s not that he’s usually fully dressed either, he’d arrived in a pair of jeans and a white tank top that showed off the muscles in his arms nicely. If only the positives would stop there. Cordelia had often wondered what was under his tank top, and had shaken away fantasies that he’d be shredded; after all it wasn’t the cover of some cheap erotic novel. Still, her imagination wasn’t too far away from the real thing, he was a little leaner than she had dreamed but still sculpted. She wanted to run her hands down his torso and trace all the different muscle groups with the tip of her finger.

“I brought this” she said, trying to play the blanket off as casual “it’s getting a little cooler, so I thought…” She trails off, clearing her throat instead. Her arms are still outstretched with the soft fibres of the blanket pricking her, as though they were pins. Tom accepts the blanket with a smile, but raises an eyebrow at the sight of the goosebumps that cover her bare limbs.

“I think you need it a little bit more than I do” he said, shaking out the red tartan material before draping it over her shoulders. His fingers brush over her arms and she shivers at the feel of them, warm and inviting against her skin. He doesn’t move away from her, instead staying close to her as his fingers stroke over the white tassels.

“Tom” Cordelia couldn’t help but murmur his name. She wanted to close the distance between them desperately, and it was killing her that he wouldn’t do it. Her hands reach out of their own volition, grasping his. A sign that she wanted more than whatever this was.

He looks down at her hands on his and then back up at her face, so pleading, and he grins wickedly. She lets go of his right hand as it comes up to cup her cheek, she squirms when he finally touches her, even if it isn’t ’here she wants him most.

“Oh dear” he cooed, his thumb runs over her plump bottom lip “it’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” She nods quickly and he frowns “use your words, darling.”

“Yes Tom” she said and his tongue flicks out to wet his lips in approval. He grants her his thumb in her mouth and she rasps her tongue against the pad of his finger, hollowing out her cheeks around it. He groans softly, and his left hand finds its way to her waist where it holds her with an iron grip.

He pulls his thumb out and before Cordelia can complain he’s tugging at her t-shirt, near tearing it off as she raises her arms and he is able to successfully take it off. The blanket has long since fallen off, pooled around her feet with her shirt now, and she shivers at the lack of protection from the cold.

“Is my pet cold?”

“Yes Tom” she whimpered when he runs his buttery warm hands against her sides, revelling in her soft brown skin.

“Let’s see if I can remedy that” he murmured as he leans in, finally capturing her lips in an open mouthed kiss. It’s searing hot and Cordelia’s eyes shut close to fully experience the depth of his mouth on hers. His tongue snakes in, claiming her mouth as his, in case she hadn’t known before. He leaves her lips for her neck, taking her pulse with his mouth and leaving a decent sized hickey over the area. He’s surprisingly gentle around her breasts, pressing soft kisses against the mounds, before sucking at her nipples. The action is sharper than Cordelia had thought it would be and half gasps, half cries out at the sensation. Tom smooths his tongue over the area, as if to sooth it, earning him a soft sigh from Cordelia. Her hands have wound themselves in his golden curls, and they feel so much softer than she anticipated. Her shorts are next to go, along with the panties, and she has a moment where she realises that she’s naked in her barn with a murderer. The aforementioned murderer sinks to his knees, licking a strip from the side of her own knee to her thigh before glancing up at her.

“Oh, God” her pupils are blown, black and hungry as she looks at Tom in anticipation of what he’s going to do. Tom had wanted to take time to tease her properly; to have her juices dripping down her thighs and her voice begging him to take her. He liked playing the long game, but he could see how desperate she was and he had sensed that she hadn’t been touched like this in too long. It was practically his duty.

“Shhhh I’ve got you” Tom murmured, he nuzzled against her inner thigh before finally tracing the tip of his tongue along her slit. His tongue probed her folds gently, and from the way he locked both eye contact and their hands together, it felt almost romantic.

Cordelia didn’t know how long Tom had been in prison, but through the fog in her head that had engulfed that event; she reasoned that it couldn’t have been for long. He had known just how much pressure to apply, how to lick, when to use the tip or flat of his tongue. As soon as he had slipped one finger in her, she knew she was a goner. Her orgasm crashed into her almost embarrassingly quickly, but she couldn’t find the words to express that sentiment. She could only see stars.

When she recovered, she felt Tom pressing warm kisses over her thighs that are riddled with goose bumps. They still feel a little shaky, and she is glad that the wood column behind her is there to support her. Even if it was slight, and may have given her a splinter or two.

“Okay?” Tom asked, his voice is husky and low, reminding Cordelia that he had yet to reach his high.

She laughed in response, and he joined in, giving her a final kiss on her stomach before rising up to stand before her. She stopped laughing when she felt him press against her, rock hard and (when she looked) nearly purple with need.

“Tom, I want you” she moaned, bucking her hips softly against his erection.

“Turn around” he groaned in response and she obeyed, holding onto the column, even though the angle and surface was awkward. He doesn’t waste time teasing; like he had wanted to if they had more time and weren’t in a barn, and instead pushed into her in one fluid motion. Her gasp is so loud that she slapped her hand over her mouth, half in surprise and half in embarrassment.

“No” he said, prising her hand off of her mouth “I want the whole damn neighbourhood to hear you.” With that, he began to thrust into her and watched as her head tipped back, back arched, and mouth open with a slew of moans, curses, and choruses of his name leaving her. He rolled his hips, earning him a particularly loud cry; his fingers dug into her hips so much that she was sure he’d leave bruises, which inevitably he did. When Cordelia looked back at that night, she often marvelled at how quickly Tom had come to tune into her body, and what she liked and didn’t like. He was practically an expert in what made her eyes roll back into her head, or a professional in what made her whimper for him.

Needless to say, it hadn’t taken long for Cordelia to feel the coil in her stomach tighten more and more. A tell-tale sign of her impending orgasm. He must have known because Tom removed one of his hands off of her waist, seeking her engorged clit instead, and rubbing the little bud until he felt her walls clench around him. The sensation was equally overwhelming for the two of them. For Cordelia, she screamed, seeing white hot flashes behind her eyelids. For Tom, he pulled out instantly stroking himself twice before hot spurts of his cum coated her lower back.

The couple were quiet for a few minutes. It wasn’t until Tom used the blanket to wipe away his cum that she returned to herself. She whimpered and Tom hushed her, carrying her back to the old mattress she had kept on the top story of the barn. She had thought the barn to be romantic; a place where she could spend the summer nights curled up and writing, but she had much preferred her own mattress and the idea was quickly abandoned. Tom had slept there instead, and the fading sheets smelled like him. She curled her body against his, savouring his hand stroking her hair, and falling asleep near instantly.

When she woke up, she expected to see Tom lying next to her, but instead she was greeted by nobody. She wasn’t even in the barn. She was back in her bed, fully dressed in her pyjamas, as if the whole night had been a dream. Cordelia frowned, no; it couldn’t have been a dream. It felt real. In the bathroom she peeled off her shirt, and found comfort in the ache of her weary limbs. It was proof it had happened. So were the bruises he had left on her. Feeling content, Cordelia headed back to her bedroom where she found an envelope sitting on the bedside table.

She lay back down on her bed, admiring the unfamiliar handwriting. She knew it was probably from Tom, telling her how much he had enjoyed last night. She smiled, opening it up to read. It didn’t take long for the smile to disappear. She wasn’t wrong; it was from Tom, and he had enjoyed last night. He had also left. He had apologised profusely in the letter, citing his decision as something that was ‘inevitable’ and ‘for the best’. He had written her a P.S. at the bottom, but Cordelia’s tears had blurred it out.

A year later and she still feels stupid for taking in a convict, fucking him, and thinking it would lead to something more. She hadn’t looked at the letter since, shutting it away in a drawer, but now she took it out. She examined the handwriting, and her tear stains which had made his postscript illegible. The only clear word was ‘back’. Cordelia frowned, musing around what ‘back’ was referring it. Then she heard a knock at the door.


End file.
